


we're not broken, just bent (look, i'm still around)

by mischief7manager



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Lesbian Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 12:05:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7314532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischief7manager/pseuds/mischief7manager
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Without her permission, her mind wanders to the memory of Allura’s lips against hers, only hours ago. She’d been terrified when Vox Machina had told her Allie’s plan, to slip in and out of Westruun right under the dragon’s nose. Seeing her again, hale and healthy--</p><p>Kima would have challenged anyone not to kiss her. </p><p>And now, here they are, together at last, saving the world. Again."</p><p>Kima and Allura rekindle their relationship at Whitestone and find out what has changed, and what hasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're not broken, just bent (look, i'm still around)

**Author's Note:**

> puffbadgersandbees on tumblr made a post about Kima being nervous for Allura to see her naked for the first time since the Underdark. While they have already posted their own wonderful fic on the subject, I couldn't resist the opportunity to play with my own interpretation.
> 
> This fic is a spiritual successor to my two other Kima/Allura fics, "and oh it aches (but it feels oddly good to hurt)" and "if you would, and you could". Although parts of each of those have been disproved by canon, this fic was written with the understanding that the events of that story have happened in the past of this one, if not in the quite the same orders or places.
> 
> Title from Kurt Hugo Schneider and Macy Kate's "Pink Medley," which I listened to the entire time I wrote this. Spoilers through episode 57.

The meeting of the Whitestone Council and its allies is finally drawing to a close, and Kima is so ready to be done she could scream.

She’s never had any patience with bureaucracy, despite understanding its importance, but having to sit at table and listen to people debate about grain supplies _today_ , of all days, was extra painful, because instead of sitting next to Yennen, or Archibald, she was sitting next to Allie.

 _Allie_.

Only the fact that they literally just reunited stops her from yanking Allie away from the table and kissing her until she couldn’t breathe. _Relax_ , she tells herself as the meeting breaks up. _It’s a second chance, don’t rush it._

Without her permission, her mind wanders to the memory of Allura’s lips against hers, only hours ago. She’d been terrified when Vox Machina had told her Allie’s plan, to slip in and out of Westruun right under the dragon’s nose. Seeing her again, hale and healthy--

Kima would have challenged anyone not to kiss her.

And now, here they are, together at last, saving the world. Again.

The other council members trail out (Gilmore giving her a knowing wink before he leaves, the man is frighteningly perceptive) until finally, _finally,_ Kima and Allura are alone. Kima opens her mouth to say--something, something clever and charming, but Allura beats her to the punch.

“I should find someplace to sleep, I suppose.”

Kima’s heart sinks. “You mean… You don’t…” Allura turns to her, and Kima shakes her head. “I thought you might want to… you know…” She ducks her head, rubbing at the suddenly warm back of her neck. “With me.”

“Oh.” It’s barely a word, more a soft release of breath, and Kima winces, ready to backtrack, but there’s a hand under her chin, lifting her face to look into Allura’s eyes. Allura smiles. “Of course,” she says. “With you, of course I want to.” She blushes then, just as prettily as Kima remembers. “I just wasn’t sure if I would be imposing, or-”

Kima goes up on her toes, as she only ever does for this, for Allie, and kisses her. It’s only a moment before Allura’s arms are around her, and she relaxes into the embrace, as familiar as the grip on her mace and the weight of the holy symbol around her neck. For a fragile second, it could almost be years ago: the two of them after a job, breaking off from the rest of the party to celebrate their work, their being alive. For a second, Kima is half a girl again, wide-eyed and wild-hearted, adventure singing in her veins.

The second passes. Allura pulls away, blinking softly, and the old aches and pains return to Kima’s bones. She’s not a girl, no more than is her companion, and as she takes Allie’s hand and leads her out of the castle to the house she’s claimed as her own, she finds herself glad of it. The girl that Kima was, was never this bold. She was awash in insecurities, burying her feelings for fear of rejection, to the point where it took nearly losing Allie to let her know how much Kima loved her.

The Kima of the present has seen and done too much to waste her time like that again.

They make the walk in silence, broken only once they’ve entered Kima’s humble dwelling and she’s shut the door. “Do you want something to drink?” Kima says, unbuckling her greaves and setting them aside. “Tea?” She starts work on her breastplate. “Coffee?”

A hand covers hers as she undoes the ties to her armor. She glances up to find Allura looking at her, heat in her eyes. “No, Kima,” she says. “I don’t want coffee.”

The next steps of the dance are familiar, too. Kima’s armor is heavier, Allura’s robes more expensive, but their bodies both remember the feeling of undressing a lover, even years and miles from their last encounter. Kima stumbles a few times in getting to the bedroom, Allie’s mouth slick and warm against hers a compelling distraction, but they both make it without any serious injury. Kima’s legs hit the bed and before she quite realizes it, Allura’s hands are on her shoulders, pushing her to her back.

Kima grins, folding her hands behind her head. Allura pauses, fingers stilling on the laces of her shift. “What?”

Kima shakes her head. “Nothing. By all means, continue.”

Allie’s eyes narrow. “Oh, no you don’t.” With a strength that never fails to surprise, she leans over and lifts Kima until her back is to the headboard. Hiking up her shift, she plants a knee on either side of Kima’s hips, bracing her hands on Kima’s shoulders so she can lean down and kiss her thoroughly. When she pulls away, they’re both breathing hard, and Allura’s voice is rich with wanting. “I’ll not be the only naked one here, thank you.”

Rolling her eyes (she’d forgotten how _imperious_ Allie got) (she’d forgotten how much she liked it), Kima leans forward just enough to pull her loose cotton shirt over her head. She reaches down to start unlacing her breast band (a hassle, but a necessary one for a warrior), but stops.

Allura isn’t moving. The teasing warmth has gone from her expression. In its place is shock, verging on horror. Kima is about to leap for her mace, to demand to know what evil has crept into the room without her noticing, when Allura reaches shaking fingertips to brush over Kima’s collarbone.

Over the scar on Kima’s collarbone.

Kima takes a sharp breath. Years and miles since their last encounter, and those years and miles have taken a toll. Kima had scars before she went into the Underdark, reminders of injuries too severe for magic to erase completely. Being tortured for days, draining her divine healing dry, unable to soothe the pain inflicted upon her…

Kima had scars before she went into the Underdark. After, there is little skin on her body left unmarked.

Allura’s touch has found one of the largest, a thick line of tissue running diagonally across her collarbone to the top of her breast, the ropy white garish against the nut-brown of Kima’s skin. If she closes her eyes, she can see the duregar in the torture chamber lifting the blade, dragging it across her chest, feel herself reach for magic that isn’t there, bite down on the scream clawing its way up her throat-

“Kima…”

Her eyes snap open. She becomes aware of her shallow breathing, the sweat pooling in the hollow of her throat, and she swallows hard against her rising gorge.

Allura is looking at her.

At _her_ , not the scars, and the intensity of that, of bearing the full weight of Arcanist Allura Vysoren’s attention, is enough to make Kima flush, despite herself. “I know,” she says, dropping her gaze to the sheets beside her, fingers worrying a loose thread in the fabric. “Not quite as pretty of a picture as I used to be.” And then she flushes more, because, Bahamut’s scaly _ballsack_ , is this the woman that she is? A woman who worries about being _pretty_? Pretty is dresses and braids and frippery. Pretty is lacy underthings that itch and corsets that pinch and all the other impractical things Kima hates wearing. Pretty is for Allura-

Who is still looking at her. Whose fingers still brush across the scar. Whose eyes haven’t left her face.

Kima’s brows snap together. “What?” she bites out, because the best defense is a good attack, and she’ll take snapping at Allie over feeling vulnerable in the moment, even if she knows she’ll regret it later.

“I didn’t realize…” Allura’s voice is soft, her usual certainty gone. She blinks, looks back to the scars scattered across Kima’s chest. “When they told me you were tortured, I didn’t realize…” Her hand is shaking, and Kima’s stomach turns over when she sees tears beginning to form in her eyes. Allura swallows. “I should have sent them sooner.”

Well, Kima can’t have _that_. “Hey.” She pulls Allura’s fingers away, taking them in her hands. “It’s not a big deal.”

The look Allie gives her in response to that… Ok, it’s deserved. “You were _tortured_.”

Kima nods. “Yeah,” she says, smart retort deserting her in the face of Allura’s concern, “I was.” She looks down again, at their twined fingers. “I- if you… I understand if you don’t… I mean…” She nearly growls in frustration. Talking was always Allie’s job.

But apparently, Allie’s decided words no longer cut it, because before Kima can stumble through another sentence, Allura’s ducked her head and pressed a kiss between Kima’s breasts, right on the center of the scar. Kima inhales shakily, hand coming up to sink into Allura’s hair. Allura looks up at her, a small smile playing over her lips. “Where were we?”

And, well. There’s not much more talking after that.

 

* * *

 

_She dreams of blood and fire. She’s dreamed of blood and fire for years, since the red monstrosity tore through their lives and left them shattered, but tonight the dream is different. A memory, in part, but warped. No longer just the members of her party being struck down in front of her, Dohla, Ghenn, Sirrus, dying as she watched them years ago. Now she sees Uriel, as Gilmore described him, blood soaking through his once-fine robes, fallen in his attempt to save his people, his country. She sees Salda, burnt hands reaching out for her husband. She sees their children, horrifyingly small bodies crumpled at her feet. She sees Gilmore himself, a friend she hadn’t thought to find in these troubled times, sees him torn to pieces, magic flickering out at his fingertips. She sees the members of Vox Machina in turn, each of their faces frozen in a twisted rictus of agony. She sees Thordak, looming over the corpses, neck arched as he bears down on-_

_Allura._

_Allura._

_Allura!_

“Allura!”

She wakes suddenly, eyes flying open, darting around the darkness. A hand rests on her shoulder, she flinches instinctively, before looking up into Kima’s worried face.

“It was a dream, Allie,” she says, voice pitched low and soothing. “Just a dream.”

Allura stares at her, breathing heavily, as she comes back to herself. “I know,” she says, running a hand through her hair. It’s a mess from all the tossing and turning, and she absently Prestidigitates the braids back into order. “I know.” She sits back, out of Kima’s reach, drops her shoulders back to sit straighter. “Sorry I woke you.”

“Hey.” A hand presses under her chin, tilting her face up. Kima brows have snapped together, seriousness in her expression that Allura has seen there only a handful of times. “You don’t apologize. Not to me, not for this.” Her hand slides to cup Allura’s cheek, and Allura leans into the touch. “You’re not the only one with nightmares.”

Allura swallows. “We have to keep them safe,” she says, and she loves Kima for this, because she knows that Kima will hear the rest of what she means: the people of Whitestone who have placed themselves in their hands. Vox Machina, so young, an aching reminder of the people they used to be. The Realmseer and Keeper Yennen and Gilmore and Zahra and Kashaw, their unlikely allies, brought to them by circumstance, but fighting with them by choice.

This time, she means. We have to keep them safe when we couldn’t before.

Kima nods. “We will,” she says, making the promise an indisputable fact, putting the weight of her belief behind it as Allura knew she would.

She sits up, leans forward to press her forehead to Allura’s. Allura closes her eyes, allows herself to rest in this moment in her lover’s embrace. Her heart is still pounding from the horrors in her nightmares, but she can feel Kima’s arms around her, feel the warmth of her breath against her lips. It’s familiar, loving Kima, like returning to her bedroom after a long day of work, but she knows it’s different this time. She loved Kima the first time, she knows, but they were both so young, and their lives full of such tragedy. She knows what she would be losing, now.

This time, Allura is ready to fight for it.

**Author's Note:**

> love these girlfriends.
> 
> credit for "Bahamut's scaly ballsack" goes to Griftings and their hilarious fic, "It Takes a Village." I've borrowed the phrase since I feel Kima, while devout, would also have an extensive vocabulary of profanity.


End file.
